


a pirate's life for me

by princessbatteringram (Cyriedearie)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Adoptive family, F/F, Gen, Kidfic, Nonbinary Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 10:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyriedearie/pseuds/princessbatteringram
Summary: The Champion of Kirkwall, the Queen of the Eastern Seas, and their little bird.





	a pirate's life for me

**Author's Note:**

> No one ever wants to keep them. Until now.

“Get back here, you knife-eared brat!” The man behind them shouts furiously, pounding footsteps as he and his men draw closer.

They’re running again. They zigzag and weave through the packed Llomerryn bazaar, hearing the merchants hawk their likely stolen goods to the masses as they pass. _All I wanted was an apple. If they steal everything and sell it, why can’t I eat?_ The crowds thin out enough that the harbor becomes visible. Panting breaths, _hide hide hide_ echoing in their brain, wide brown eyes frantically seeking a place to stop. Then they see it. A huge ship, billowing striped sails, gangplank down. They race up onto deck, legs threatening to give way, and duck into the first doorway they see as the angry yelling of the men chasing them gets closer. As they finally find what appears to be a storeroom and squeeze themselves behind a crate, the yelling gets louder. Then it turns into screams. Metal clashing, crackling and the smell of burning, the sound of gleeful laughter and heavy thumps on wood. Silence falls.

Holding their breath, they silently count to fifteen, then thank the absent Maker that it is still quiet. Lifting their head, they peer over the edge of the crate. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, they carefully unfold themselves and shakily stand up.

“Well hello, little one,” says a clear voice right behind them. They jump; only catching the glint of silver in their peripheral vision, they frantically take off again, only to run directly into a pair of leather clad legs. They fall back and stare up at the person, tears blurring their vision as their mind races. _Lie lie lie, what’s a good lie?_

“The… the captain sent me!” they blurt out in a quavering voice. _Enough ships have urchins on board for errands, don’t they?_

“I don’t recall sending anyone to hide in our stores, certainly not a little bird like you.” the woman says, raising a brow pierced with gold, amusement apparent in her tone. “I am the captain.”

Upon hearing this, the tears they had almost tamped down came rushing back, sobs bubbling forth as they sit up and hug themselves. _Of course she had to be the captain,_ they think. _She’s going to give me to the guards, and they’ll whip me again._ Footsteps coming up behind them, then they register the person sitting down to their side, the clink of metal again as she settles. Rubbing eyes with their fists, they peer at the other person curiously. Warm amber eyes, brown hair in a messy topknot, a red stripe across the bridge of her nose. She meets their gaze and smiles, carefully reaching out and smoothing their choppy dark hair out of their face before looking up at the woman calling herself the captain.

“Bela.” she says, tone conveying a thousand things at once. The captain sighs, rolls her eyes, and folds her arms across her chest.

“Hawke. We cannot keep a small child.”

“But…” the woman she called Hawke protests. Their mouth drops open, and they stare at her wide eyed.

“You want to keep me?” they whisper, fear and hope warring. _No one ever wants to keep me. What if this is a trick?_ Hawke smiles at them, and opens her arms in invitation. They look at her suspiciously. “You’re just gonna give me back to the guards. Or whip me yourself. Or—.”

“Or perhaps, we could start by feeding you.” interjects the captain. They look up at her. “We may have a tunic somewhere, as well.” Isabela says, keeping a carefully blank face as she inspects the torn shirt and how easily she can count the child’s ribs. “Come.”

“Up you get, little sparrow.” Hawke says, standing and offering a hand. They push themselves up once again, still trembling, and take her hand.

Hawke leads them out onto the deck of the ship, pausing when they tug at her hand. The men chasing them are at the foot of the gangplank; all of them dead. One appears to have been sliced belly to neck, another looking to be a mostly burnt husk. There’s numerous scorch marks on the deck, and blood splatters adorning the wood. They look at Hawke, who meets their eyes and shrugs, utterly unashamed of the carnage. She gently leads them onward, ducking under a low doorway.

“The world can always use less slavers.” she says, nodding more to herself than to them. “Do you like honey bread?”

“Honey bread?” The thought makes their mouth water. It’s hard to remember the last time they managed to steal more than stale crusts from behind the bakery, and even those are a treat some days.

“Here.” She hands them a piece of the warm loaf, and the scent nearly overwhelms them. They tear into it, gulping it down in only a few bites, then look back at Hawke. “Hungry, are we?” she says wryly and hands them the rest. “Slowly. Don’t want to make yourself sick.” They barely hear her and are focused completely on this gift when she steps away from their side.

When their hunger is abated for now, they take a moment to peer at their surroundings. Sunlight streaming through a porthole lights the room; they notice a desk with papers scattered over the top, the only care shown to a map pinned to the surface with a penknife. A well worn wooden chair sits in front of it, and a few feet behind is a bed dwarfing the rest of the quarters, topped with a cheerfully patterned quilt. Clothes are strewn to one side, and the women who’d saved them are standing in the other corner, conferring in hushed tones.

They catch a few phrases about them, concern clearly evident: whiplash thin, elfling, starving, delicate as a bird. The captain pauses and looks directly at them. She’s decorated in gold and silver; a stud below her lip, medallion earrings, an ornate necklace, even gold thread in the bandana she wears catching the light. They count six, no seven visible knives, and think that a woman like this likely has twice that hidden elsewhere.

“What is your name, little sparrow?” she asks. _‘Little sparrow’ is certainly better than dirty mongrel, or knife-eared thief,_ they think. _I’ll take it._

“Sparrow.” They whisper, and Hawke smiles.

“Like that name, do you? Okay. Sparrow. My name is Lottie.” she replies, and makes her way back to them, kneeling so they’re eye level. “Do you have parents?” she asks gently. Sparrow’s bottom lip trembles, and she has her answer. Hawke opens her arms once more, and the elf winds thin arms around her, burying their face in her neck. She stands, and Sparrow’s arms tighten around her. “Hush, I’ve got you.” she murmurs, walking back over to Isabela.

“We’re keeping them, aren’t we?” Isabela asks, watching her wife rub the child’s back in soothing circles. Hawke just looks at them evenly. “Of course we are. You truly will be the death of me, Lottie.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can come visit me on Tumblr @princessbatteringram. Leaving it open ended for more about them later. :)


End file.
